


Devil's Gate

by ring_nebula



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ring_nebula/pseuds/ring_nebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Dean Winchester ended up fighting and winning the Demon War. Inspired by/based off Pacific Rim but doesn't require knowledge of the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta Jane for checking over the story!  
> Basically, Demons == Kaiju, Hunters == Jaegers and the rest will be explained as the story progresses.
> 
> Disclaimer: All of this is fiction and for fun. I'm not making any money. Some lines are paraphrased or lifted directly from the first episode of season 2 of Supernatural.  
> Most locations are generally accurate to real life (including travel time) but anything medical, while researched to the best of my ability using google, is circumspect at best, so I apologize for any inaccuracies therein.

“Winchester! You’ve got a phone call.”

Dean slides out from under the car and hauls himself upright. The owner of the auto shop Dean works at greets him with a frown.

“Who from?” Dean asks. He wipes away an errant trickle of sweat, leaving a grease stain in its place.

“Hospital in Wyoming. It’s not good news.”

Dean checks his watch. It’s only noon. He’d been hoping to pick up a few extra hours this week, but-

“Looks like I’m gonna have to call it a day,” he says, starting to pack up his toolbox.

“‘Fraid so.”

 *

Thirty minutes later, Dean’s on his way home to pick up some supplies for the eleven hour drive to Casper, Wyoming. The two-bedroom apartment he shares with his dad is a disaster zone. Empty beer cans and pizza boxes populate the tiny living room floor, and Dean knows his father's room is even worse.

His own room is pristine, possibly because he doesn't own enough to make a mess. In his rush to pack, Dean nearly yanks the handles off his fourth or fifth-hand dresser. He pulls a duffel bag from under his bed and dumps some thankfully clean clothes in. After a quick check to ensure nothing he's leaving behind is actually hazardous, Dean grabs all the food that's about to go bad from the fridge and sets off in the Impala.

Pulling onto the interstate, he debates leaving the phone call to Sam till he passes the Kansas State campus. But if things are as bad as the lady on the phone had said, then Sam should probably know.

Grimacing, Dean dials his brother's number and waits. “Hey, Sammy. How’s it going?”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks.

Dean doesn’t even bother to act indignant. “I got a call from a hospital in Wyoming-”

Sam interrupts him before he can finish. “What did Dad do this time? I swear to God if he’s got alcohol poisoning again-”

“Sam.” Dean cuts him off. “He got hit by a semi. The doctors don’t know if he’s gonna make it.”

The line is silent for a minute, then- “Where are you? Are you going to... Wyoming, or wherever?”

“Yeah. I’m on I-70, I just left Lawrence. The hospital’s about eleven hours away, so-”

Sam breaks in again. “I’m coming; I’ll be ready when you get here. I just need to email my professors. You know the dorm address?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Don’t you dare leave me behind.”

“If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have called till I was there.” 

*

The drive to Wyoming takes them longer than expected.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean grips the steering wheel in frustration. “We’ve been stuck here for an hour! It’s been months since the fucking Demon attacked!”

“Do you know how many overpasses Lilith must have taken out? It was like 300 feet tall!” Sam asks. “Plus they have to clean the contamination from the carcass. I saw a picture of a guy who got splashed with Demon blood on the news.” He shudders. “It looked like he was melting.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t they use some of those giant robots to, I don’t know, get the damn corpse out of the city?”

“You don’t think Demon blood eats through metal too? They’ve only got five Hunters; it’d be stupid to risk damaging them when they can just clean it up by hand.”

“All right, whatever. I’m gonna get off this road ASAP. Try to pass through Cheyenne instead of Denver. It’ll take longer but it’s not like we’re going anywhere now.”

After twenty minutes at a crawl, Dean manages to exit and pulls onto 71, which is blessedly empty. He guns it down the highway, desperate to make up for the time lost in traffic. They make it to Casper in less than six hours. As he parks the Impala at Wyoming Medical Center, Dean turns to Sam.

“Look, Sammy. No matter what happens to Dad, I’m gonna be here. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you through law school - to get you to the life you should have.”

Sam tries to say something, but Dean continues on.

“You deserve to be at Stanford, not some crappy state school where you’re miles ahead of everyone. I know you haven’t actually talked to Dad much since he- well, screwed you over, but he’s our father. So just- hold off on the arguing till we get him home, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Dean. I can deal. Right after Mom died, I felt like he wasn’t even human anymore. He couldn't just mourn quietly like the rest of us; he had to get obsessed. Azazel this, and Demon that, twenty-four/seven. Disappearing in the middle of the night for days and only calling us when he needed bailing out.

“It didn’t even occur to me that I might not be able to go to Stanford until you had to get a second job. You told me our bank account was running on fumes, and we just couldn’t afford it, and I got so mad. Mad at the universe for taking away every good thing I had. Mad at Dad for not being able to hold it together. Mad at Azazel for killing Mom. Even mad at you for not complaining, for putting your plans on hold to keep the family afloat.

“I don’t think that I’ve forgiven him, not all the way, but I think it’s my turn to give even a fraction of what you’ve given. I’m sorry, Dean, for everything I said-”

Dean holds up a hand. “Enough with the chick flick moment, dude.”

“Fine, jerk.”

“Bitch."

 *

Dean paces back and forth in the waiting room for what feels like the millionth time. They’d arrived just as John went into the operating room three hours ago, and he still isn’t out. He’s pressed the doctors for information at every opportunity - eventually they'd stopped coming to the waiting room. They all just said he’d be out when the surgery was done, and they couldn’t say anything about his chances. Dean knows from experience that could mean his dad's odds of survival are anywhere from grim to fairly good. Doctors and nurses don’t like to hand out hope they know is false.

Dean glances at Sam, sprawled half-asleep in a chair. Dean's thankful it's his last year of college, but with the hospital bills from his dad’s latest escapade, Dean putting him through law school is looking tougher and tougher, especially if Sam wants to go to Stanford. The last thing he wants is for his brother to be saddled with the kind of debt that comes with student loans, but Dean is already working three jobs and that’s barely enough to cover Kansas State’s tuition and feed him and John. He doesn’t know what else he can do. He's heading down the hallway to the coffee machine when a doctor in scrubs emerges from the OR.

“Dean Winchester?” he asks, pulling off his scrub cap.

“That’s me. How is he, doc?”

Sam stirs at the voices and comes to stand by Dean.

“He’s out of surgery and stable. There was significant abdominal trauma - damage to the kidneys and liver, but the primary concern is the head trauma.”

“What can we do?” asks Dean.

“We can’t know much more until he wakes up. He’s been in and out of consciousness since he came in. The anesthesia will wear off in an hour or so, but it may take him longer to wake up. I have to be honest. Most people injured so badly wouldn’t have survived this long. He’s fighting, but we don’t know how much longer he has. You need to have realistic expectations. I’m sorry.”

The doctor heads back through the doors. Sinking into a chair, Dean holds his head in his hands, trying to process what he’s heard.

“Dean?” Sam shakes his brother by the shoulders. His tone suggests that Dean hasn’t been responding for a while now.

“Get off me, Sammy.” Dean bats Sam’s hands away. “I’m fine. It just hit me, you know? That he actually might not make it.”

“I know.” Sam frowns. “The nurse said we could go to his hospital room now. Since it’ll be a while before he wakes up, you should try to get some sleep; you’ve been up for way too long.”

“Trying to take care of me now, Sammy?” Dean smiles wryly.

“Making up for when I didn’t,” he responds.

 *

The sun’s starting to filter through the blinds in the hospital room by the time John starts to regain consciousness. Dean manages to catch a few hours of sleep in the surprisingly comfortable recliner in the corner, but he wakes around five and insists that Sam switch with him. His enormous younger brother had been propped up against a wall, looking miserable. Dean drags a folding chair from the hallway to next to John’s bed and is sitting there, desperately trying to plan out a decent future for Sam when John stirs.

Dean is instantly alert, hoping, almost praying. For some reason, he feels like it’ll all be okay if his dad wakes up. John shifts in bed and then slowly opens his eyes. It takes a few moments for them to focus but as soon as they do, he takes in his surroundings.

“Dean?” he asks, voice slightly hoarse.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m here. Sammy’s here too- he’s sleeping but I’ll get him up.”

Dean stands to get his brother but John grabs at his wrist to stop him.

“Leave him be. It’s nice to see him when he’s not yelling at me.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s not gonna be like that, Dad. Not now.”

“Let him sleep anyway. I need to talk to you.”

As Dean sits back down, John tries and fails to sit up. Dean hands him the bed remote without comment, and John adjusts the bed.

“I’ve been out of it almost the whole time I’ve been at the hospital, but I’ve heard enough from the doctors. I’m probably not gonna make it unless they try something unnatural,” says John bluntly.

“Then they’re gonna do whatever they have to. Sam and I aren’t leaving here without you,” Dean replies.

“Let’s be realistic about this, Dean. I’m an old, broken-down fuck-up who’s been dragging you and your brother down ever since your mother died. It’s not worth the cost of fixing me.”

“Don’t you dare say that," says Dean, suddenly angry. "Not after all I’ve done to keep you living.”

“And what if I don’t want to live?”

“What?” Dean freezes.

“I’m sorry, Dean. But I gotta be honest. I put too much on your shoulders after your mom died. Made you take care of Sammy, take care of me. You did that, and you didn’t complain. Not once. I just want you to know I am so proud of you.”

“What is this, some kind of deathbed confession? I told you, Dad, You’re not dying. Not on my watch.”

“If I get out of this hospital bed, you and I both know I’m gonna be back within six months. I can’t stop hunting for information about these Demons unless something stops me. And if that something is Death, well, at least I’ll get to join your mother, if I can’t avenge her.”

“Dad, you can’t go.” Dean chokes up trying to work past the lump in his throat. “We need you.”

“You haven’t needed me for years, son. You put Sam through college after I drank away our money. You’re the one who’s been keeping me alive ever since your mother died. You shouldn’t have had to do that. It’s time for you to live your life.”

“Dad-”

“I’m thirsty. You mind getting me some water?”

Dean swallows thickly. “Nah, no problem.”

“Wake Sammy up after that, will you? I want to talk to him.”

“Sure.”

Dean pours his dad a cup of water from the jug on his bedside table, then goes to wake Sammy.

“Dad’s awake,” he says, shaking his shoulder. “Remember what I said in the car.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam unfolds himself from the recliner and moves to Dean’s empty chair.

“Hey, Dad. I-”

John brings a hand up before Sam can go on.

“Can we not fight? You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I, I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?” John presses his fingers to his temple.

“Yeah, Dad. I didn’t come here to argue with you. I actually wanted to say that I forgive you. I don’t understand why you did the things you did. Why you’re still doing them and risking your life, but I know that you’re doing them for Mom, and I can’t argue with that. Whatever happened in the past, we can put it behind us. I just wish I’d come around sooner.”

“Sam, stop talking like he’s gonna die,” says Dean.

“I heard you guys talking, okay?” says Sam. “He might. It’s time for me to stop living in this fantasy world. We were all screwed up by that Demon killing Mom. Dad’s the one that showed it the most, but at least he was honest. At least he didn’t put every fiber of his being into pretending nothing happened and everything would be fine, lying to himself like I did. At least he didn’t stop living his own life like you did, Dean. He did something and that’s better than you or I.”

“When the hell did you get to be such a huge fan of Dad, huh? You hated him last time I talked to you!”

“When I realized he was gonna die and grew the fuck up!” Sam shouts.

The room is dead silent for a moment, then a nurse opens the door and glares at them. “We’ve got patients trying to sleep here!” she whispers fiercely. “If you can’t keep your arguments quiet then you can have them outside!”

“We’re very sorry, Nurse...” Dean reads her nametag, “Watson. We’ll keep it down from now on.”

“See that you do, or security will escort you out.”

She closes the door with exaggerated care.

Sam and Dean don’t know what to say until John finally declares,

“Whatever the hell happens to me, it’s time you two live your lives your way. And the least I can do is try to make up for some of the damage I’ve done. Can you get me a piece of paper and a pen?”

Sam complies with his request. John writes down an address, massaging his neck with his other hand.

“There’s a storage facility on 220, south of Casper on the way to Rawlins. I’ve got about fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of Demon relics in there. Bones, mostly, but there are a few preserved pieces of organs. Sell them on the black market or to the government, whatever. I know it won’t pay for Stanford, but it might take off some of the burden of the hospital bills.”

“What do you have Demon relics for?” Sam asks. “And where did you get them?”

“I’ve got a few contacts in the cities that were hit. I was planning on using them as leverage for information, but the attacks are coming so often that the people who know anything are already up to their eyeballs in body parts.”

“Who’s gonna want them, then?”

“The IPDC’s still buying from anyone who’s selling, just in case they’re dangerous. But that doesn’t stop the black market trade from scooping them up. You’ll probably get more for them illegally, but honestly it’s damn inconvenient.” John chuckles, then stops as if the movement hurts him. He struggles take in a breath and the machines hooked up to him start to go crazy. As Nurse Watson rushes in, John collapses in bed. More nurses and doctors enter the room, trying to push Sam and Dean out.

“No, no, no. It’s our dad. It’s our dad!” Dean pleads. “Come on!”

“He’s in respiratory arrest!” calls out a doctor. “Starting compressions.”

They try to resuscitate John for what seems like an eternity to Dean, until the doctor finally says,

“Stop compressions. I’m calling it.”

“No, come on! Come on!” Dean yells, trying to fight his way to his dad’s side.

“Time of death: 6:41 A.M.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, they have John cremated. Dean realizes as he’s handed the container of his ashes that he and Sam were the only ones who would have showed up to a funeral anyway. After packing away the few things his father had come in with, he sits on the hood of the Impala, wrapping his leather jacket tightly around himself. Sam waits in the car for Dean to get up and tell him where they’re going next, but ten minutes pass by and Dean doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. Sam climbs out of the car.

“Dean?” he asks, sitting down next to his brother. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Sammy.” Dean doesn’t look at him.

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine to me.”

“Jeez, can’t a guy get a few minutes of peace? I’m fine. If you want to help so bad, go find someone in there,” he gestures towards the hospital, “and ask ‘em where we can get some food in this damn town. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“All right.” Sam hops off the hood and disappears into the building. Once’s he’s out of sight, Dean lets his head sink into his hands. He breathes deeply, once, twice, then stands up, straightens his clothing and gets into the Impala. A few minutes later, Sam emerges from the hospital with directions scribbled on a scrap of paper.

“The lady at reception said there was an IHOP a couple miles down the road. That okay?” Sam says as he gets into the car.

“Yeah, Sam, it’s fine.”

*

A stack of pancakes later, Sam is still not convinced that Dean’s okay. They eat mostly in silence, Dean devouring the aforementioned pancakes while Sam eats his egg-white and cheese omelet at a more sedate pace. When it comes time to pay the bill, Sam tries to take care of it, but Dean fixes him with a glare made no less potent by his giant mouthful of bacon. Sam backs off.

Finally, wiping his fingers on a napkin, Dean nods and says,

“Okay. Storage place is about a half an hour away. We can load up everything there and have you back on campus before midnight.”

“That’s it? That’s all we’re gonna do?”

“What else is there to do? You want me to lay my head gently on your shoulder? Cry about everything we’ve lost?”

“Don’t patronize me, Dean. Dad’s dead, and you’re acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to do? Grieve? Break down? Yell at the universe for screwing me over for the millionth time? At least this time Dad did something to help us out.”

Sam doesn’t know how to respond.

Dean keeps talking in a gentler tone of voice. “Dad is dead. And it sucks. Believe me, I know that. But living in the past isn’t gonna change one damn thing. Besides, we’ve gotta get you back to school. Don’t want you to get in trouble for cutting class or anything.” Dean forces a smirk. “Finish your omelet, Sammy. We’re going home.” Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and heads out to the car.

*

“How much stuff do you think he had, Dean?” Sam asks, as they pull into the storage facility’s parking lot.

Dean shrugs. “Hell if I know. We’ll load up whatever fits and figure out what to do with the rest later. I’m sure those black market-types have moving trucks.”

A bell rings as they open the door to the office. A few minutes later, a woman steps out from a back room.

“Welcome to Southern Wyoming Mini Storage. My name is Brenda. How can I help you?” she asks.

“Hi, Brenda,” says Dean, putting on his most charming smile. “My name is Dean Winchester, and my father, John Winchester, stored some of his stuff in one of your units. I’ve got the key and everything, so me and my brother would like to pick everything up.”

“Winchester, Winchester...” She searches for their file on an aging computer monitor that takes up most of the desk. “Aha. Here you are. It’s a good thing you two came when you did, honey. The rental’s about to be up. We were gonna empty the all the units day after tomorrow.”

“Units?” Sam asks. “How much stuff did he have here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” she asks. “Well, come on out and I’ll show you.”

Brenda leads them out behind the office building to the rows of storage units. As they walk, the apparent size of each unit increases, along with Dean’s worry that they won’t be able to fit their dad’s belongings in the Impala. Finally, they reach the last row of units.

“Three of the 10x20s, right there,” she points out. “Normally we use ‘em to store boats.”

Dean frowns. “There’s no way we can fit all of that in the car. How are we supposed to get it out of here?”

The receptionist smiles shrewdly. “We also offer Uhaul rental...”

Dean heaves open the door of one of the units and peers inside. His jaw drops. “Shit. Where the hell did Dad get all of this?”

The room is filled from top to bottom with Demon body parts. Organs sit jellied in fish tanks of green liquid. Every shelf was jam-packed with bone fragments, some of which were bigger than Dean himself. Dean had expected a tiny storage locker with a few boxes of Demon bone powder, and maybe a preserved skin mite or a piece of skin, nothing this big..

“Jesus Christ,” says Sam, just as awed as Dean. “I thought he was exaggerating.”

“Looks like we’re gonna need that Uhaul,” says Dean.

After two hours of heavy lifting, trying not to jar the delicate specimens John had collected, Sam and Dean have filled the biggest truck Brenda has, along with the trunk and every empty seat of the Impala. It all just barely fits, and Dean pays Brenda for the rental with only a fleeting thought towards the cost, because they’ll be covered for a while once they sell all of this. As he shuts the Impala’s trunk, Dean feels his spirits lift a little.

“All right, Sammy. The way I see it, we’ve got two options. We can head back to Kansas right now, and figure out how to sell this crap later- on eBay or Craigslist or wherever. Problem with that is I don’t know where the hell I’m gonna keep it in the meantime.” Sam nods, waiting for Dean’s second and obviously preferred option. “Or, we can go to the Wyoming Shatterdome and get rid of it all in one shot. I figure, worst case, they try to rip us off or don’t want it, and we head home a few hours later, but if things go well, we leave with a nice chunk of change. What do you think?”

Sam raises an eyebrow and states, “You just want to visit the Shatterdome so you can see the Hunters, don’t you.”

Dean sputters and shakes his head. “Of course not. I just think we should kill two birds with one stone, and if that happens to involve seeing some sweet giant machines, then that’s just a side effect I’m gonna have to live with,” he says with a smug grin.

“What’s wrong with you? You weren’t exactly complimentary of those ‘sweet giant machines’ when we were stuck in traffic outside of Denver.”

“Aw, like you said, it’s not the Hunters’ fault that Demon blood melts metal. Nothing’s wrong with me. Lighten up, dude.”

Dean can tell he’s in for a speech about his lack of a “healthy emotional reaction to death,” so he quickly says,

“Let’s just get going, all right? Sooner we get back to Kansas, the better.”

“Do you even know where the Shatterdome is?”

“Nope. I’m gonna leave the research to you, college boy.”

*

Sam borrows the office computer to google the Shatterdome, and they take off twenty minutes later, Sam driving the Uhaul and Dean following in the Impala. Dean thinks the trip will be peaceful, just him and his baby on the road. But then the heat comes on, and the Legos he’d shoved into the vents when he was seven start to rattle incessantly. And he realizes the initials he and Sam carved into the dashboard are just barely visible out of the corner of his eye, as he stares forward at the road. The Army man Sam jammed into the ashtray starts to poke into his arm uncomfortably. All of these little artifacts that used to mark the car as theirs now serve as reminders of the life he can’t have anymore. The memories in this car bleed away Dean’s good mood until all he can think about is how much better it was before Azazel killed his mother, before his entire existence centered around keeping his dad alive and his brother protected.

He freezes when he realizes he’s failed. He couldn’t do it. His father is ashes in a box, and his brother, well, his brother knows exactly what situation they’re in, might have to take out student loans, may never get out of Kansas and have the apple pie life he so desperately wants. And it’s all Dean’s fault. He couldn’t keep his dad under control, couldn’t keep Sammy from the fallout. He’s a fuckup in the worst way possible because he let them all down.

Dean’s spiral of self-loathing is cut short when the Shatterdome comes into view. The sheer enormity of the fifty story main building derails his train of thought completely. On the highway it’d been hidden by the all the hills, but now that they’re off the main road, he can do nothing but take it all in. He remembers, from reading the news when the first Shatterdome was built in Illinois, that the designs of the massive stations are based off the building they used to make space shuttles in. Of course, when the space program was up and running, the hype was all about aliens and life on other planets. Who’d have thought that the real threat would come from right under everyone’s noses?

Either way, Dean has been hankering to see a Shatterdome up close and personal ever since then, and now’s his chance, if they’ll let him in. He hopes that selling a cartload of Demon relics will be enough to get him past the security checkpoint further down the road and into the Shatterdome proper. Dean texts Sam when they join the line of vehicles waiting to enter the base.

_Dean: let me do the talking, u just drive up behind me_

_Sammy: What are you planning on telling them?_

_Dean: the truth, nothing fancy. but im winging it if they ask where we got it_

_Sammy: Okay..._

The truck in front of the Impala drives forward, and a boom gate with a stop sign comes down behind it. A woman in a dark grey military uniform comes out and motions for Dean to roll down his window.

“Hello, ma’am,” Dean says, beaming in his most charming manner. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Your vehicle doesn’t have a permit to be on this base. I need to see your identification, please.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dean responds, fishing his driver’s license from his wallet. He hands it to her with a smile, which she does not return.

She inspects his ID and frowns. “You’re not a member of the United States Armed Forces, Mr. Winchester. This base is a restricted zone for civilians. State the purpose of your presence here today.”

“Well, my brother and I-” Dean points out the Uhaul behind him, “have recently become the owners of a pretty significant amount of Demon relics. Being law-abiding citizens,” Dean grins again, “we don’t have any use for those kinds of items or anywhere to store them, and we heard that you could sell to the government.”

“I see. So you just decided to drop by the Wyoming Shatterdome?”

“We were in the area, and we figured it’d be quickest to skip the middleman.”

“All right. I’m going to have to ask you and your brother to come with me, Mr. Winchester. We are detaining you and your vehicles until further notice.”

Dean sighs.

*

They end up in a windowless holding space that looks like a waiting room, except for a distinct lack of handle on their side of the door.

“Those are some paranoid sons of bitches, right, Sammy?” Dean asks, staring at the ceiling.

Sam makes a face and shrugs. “Could be worse. We could be handcuffed. They still might decide to throw us in a cell and leave us to rot.”

“What did we do to them?” Dean wants to know.

“Oh, come on, Dean. Couple of dudes show up out of the blue with a truck full of Demon parts... doesn’t exactly scream ‘totally innocent’, does it?”

“They could at least say what the hell they want from us.”

“They’re probably watching us right now.”

“Nah, there’s no cameras and you need a window for two-way glass.”

“You think the Shatterdome doesn’t have ways to watch people without them noticing?”

“They can watch all they want - ain’t gonna get anything.” Dean stretches out on an uncomfortable plastic bench. In response to Sam’s questioning look he says, “Might as well get comfy. They’re probably not coming for a while.” He closes his eyes.

The door swings open. Dean sits up to see a man in worn dark grey fatigues and, interestingly, a baseball cap. Behind him, two similarly-dressed soldiers carry assault rifles pointed at him and his brother. For the first time, real current of fear runs up Dean’s spine.

“Who are you?” asks the man, closing the door to the room.

“Dean Winchester, sir,” Dean responds, instinctively returning to the military discipline his father had drilled into him. “And this is my brother Sam. We-”

“Brought in that truck full of Demon bits, I know. Idjits,” he mutters.

Dean frowns, confused. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Idjits. Both of you. Couldn’t have sold the damn relics on the black market like everyone else?”

Sam finally speaks up, “I don’t know what’s going on here, or who you are, but are we under arrest? Why are you keeping us here?”

The man looks appraisingly at Sam. “No, you’re not under arrest. I’m Bobby Singer, Marshal of this place.”

Shit, Dean thinks. They were talking to the commander of the entire Shatterdome. What had they done to make that happen?

Marshal Singer continues to speak. “You’re here because it’s a tiny bit suspicious when anyone shows up with what you have, and I’m here because you had to show up at my Shatterdome with the previously mentioned shit-ton of Demon chunks. Those two are here in case you two get any ideas about taking advantage of an old, feeble veteran like me.” Marshal Singer snorts. “Have a seat. We’re gonna get started. And a word of advice: cut the crap. I’m telling you now, I don’t care where you got this shit, or about the finer details of the legality of your acquisition - I just need to know if it’s genuine and if you have more. Got it?”

Dean and Sam nod. Sam looks to Dean, sticking to their earlier plan. Dean clears his throat, considering lying for a minute just because he doesn’t want to spill his whole family history out to this stranger, but eventually goes with the truth.

“Four years ago Azazel killed my mother, Mary Winchester. She was on a trip to Albuquerque with friends and she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My father, John Winchester, couldn’t handle losing her. He broke down, got obsessed with Demons, with figuring out what they are and how to get revenge. Sammy and I, we thought he gambled or drank away Sam’s college fund. Turns out he used our life savings to buy all of the Demon relics that we brought with us today. I can’t help you get more and neither can he because we only found out about them last night, right before my father died.” Dean’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got his ashes in the trunk if you want some sorta proof. I’ve got no friggin’ idea whether any of it is legit or not - I just want it out of my hands, hopefully with some compensation in return. Dad told us the government was buying Demon parts, so we decided to sell it to you straight.”

Marshal Singer regards Dean with raised eyebrows.

Dean frowns. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter. I believe you. Don’t give me reason to regret that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Singer grunts. “All right. Follow me, and don’t wander. Last civilian that strayed ended up as rat chow.”

“Wonderful,” says Sam. He gets up and starts towards the door, but Singer stops him.

“One at a time. We’re gonna talk to you separate before we let you any deeper into the Shatterdome. As a matter of protocol.”

“All right, whatever.” Sam sinks back down into a chair.

“I’ll see you as soon as they’ll let me, okay, Sammy?” Dean says.

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

The door closes behind Dean, and they set off.

*

“What, exactly, do you know about Demons, Mr. Winchester?” Marshal Singer asks as he escorts them down another labyrinthine corridor.

“Not much, only what shows up on the news.” He takes in the rust-speckled walls and dusty floors as they walk. He quits his gawping when they stop up short.

“Expecting something different?” Singer asks.

“No, ‘s just... the Shatterdomes on TV are a lot- “

“A lot what? Spit it out, boy!”

“Cleaner, shinier.”

Marshal Singer nods. “That’s how it is in the Eastern ‘domes. They’re well-funded, well-ordered, well-located. Not in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere like we are. You could say things are a little rougher here.”

Dean’s starting to like this man. “So the stick up your asses is shorter than the one up theirs?”

Bobby just looks at him for a terrifying moment, in which Dean thinks he may have severely misjudged his character, until he laughs. “Good one. The official parlance is that ‘we don’t stand on ceremony here,’ but I think I like your version better. Welcome to the Wyoming Shatterdome. Call me Bobby.”

 


End file.
